Passion Fruit
by Lynn Saunders
Summary: There's no place she'd rather be.


Title: Passion Fruit  
Author: Lynn Saunders  
Rating: R  
Classification: MSR, RST, Post-Ep for both Amor Fati   
and Millennium  
Spoilers: through Millennium  
Summary: There is no place she'd rather be.  
Feedback: Adored, re-read, printed out, and imortalized   
in a quality binder at lynnsaundersfanfic@hotmail.com.  
Website: http://www.mindspring.com/~lynnsaunders  
Distribution: Archive freely, but please drop me a line   
to let me know.  
Date Completed: 2.16.2004  
  
Dedication: To my BTS babies for the Readers' Day   
Challenge (element list at end). I love you all!  
  
Special Thanks: To Carol and Sallie, my beloved beta   
team.  
  
Disclaimer: Oops, not mine. Sorry.  
  
- - -  
  
Passion Fruit  
by Lynn Saunders  
  
== Late October, 1999 ==  
  
"I saw things, Scully." He raises her hand shakily,   
placing it on the shorn hair at his temple. "In my mind."  
  
Concerned, she eases him back against the hospital   
pillow. "It's alright. Try to get some rest."  
  
"I heard things, too." He blinks at her groggily.   
"I could hear you."  
  
A week later, standing in his doorway, she realizes   
what he means and wonders what he might have   
discovered in her.  
  
- - -  
  
He does not exaggerate his feelings for her. She is his   
constant. The only memories he is certain are real and true   
involve her.   
  
Her fingers caress his face, lingering on his full bottom   
lip, a heavenly sensation. He should kiss her, but he   
hesitates, and the moment is gone. Even as she turns to   
leave, he is at peace.  
  
In the evening, he is surprised to find her at his door   
once again, pizza box in hand. This is a rare occasion,   
to be sure.  
  
They pretend to watch the news, watching each other   
instead. She laughs at three of his bad jokes, and he   
steals her pepperoni. They find "When Harry Met Sally"   
on AMC and settle in for the long haul. Halfway through,   
Scully rests her head on his shoulder. His arms encircle   
her easily, as if it is nothing new.  
  
"I was lost without you," she says.   
  
He takes his first deep breath in ages.   
  
== November, 1999 ==  
  
It's the little things that remind her she's hopelessly,   
completely in love with him. The way he smiles   
conspiratorially while sharing his insane theories and steals   
sips of her coffee when he knows she's looking. The way   
he touches her, warm fingers against the curve of her back   
offering up a challenge she desperately wants to accept.  
Ignoring his silent advances has proven to be the worst   
form of self-neglect, so she plays with his tie and   
buys suits with a slightly lower neckline, hoping to   
atone for lost time.  
  
So much time has passed since her last relationship that   
she can barely remember the feel of it, of being high on   
love. She knows she once enjoyed the novelty of having a   
man to touch and kiss anytime, anyplace, simply because   
she wanted to. The idea is wonderful, but her memories   
are scattered and fuzzy, hard to piece together, as   
if they are parts of a dream or a past life.  
  
She thinks about the men she has been involved with,   
wondering about the life she would have led if she had   
chosen to spend it with one of them. She shivers, thinking   
that she might have ended up in a stereotypical role, the   
younger woman, the home-wrecker. She hopes she walked away   
in time.  
  
After Daniel, she slept on her sofa for six weeks.   
  
After Diana, Mulder slept on his couch for six years.   
  
Mulder is different, but she fits well with him.   
They are more alike than anyone suspects. Maybe   
they could work out the details as they go along.  
  
- - -  
  
Another car, another long drive home. They stop at a   
roadside diner because he wants french fries. "Greasy,"   
he says. "The real thing."  
  
The booth is small with bright red vinyl seats and a   
yellow checked table cloth. The salt and pepper shakers   
are tiny Holstein cows. Their drinks are served in large   
mason jars.   
  
He makes fun of her for ordering water while he eats   
his fries three at a time. "Live a little, Scully."  
  
She selects chocolate cake from the menu and eats it   
slowly in retaliation. He watches her, shaking his   
head, and gets his hand slapped when he tries to steal   
a forkful.  
  
They enjoy a few minutes of companionable silence.  
  
"What are you thinking?" she asks softly.  
  
"I'm thinking... this is nice."   
  
She looks around the small room. The palm tree   
wallpaper is peeling, and the gum-smacking teenage   
waitress is chatting with her boyfriend on the phone.   
The shake machine buzzes loudly for no apparent reason.   
Then, there's Mulder. He is slouched across from her,   
sleeves rolled and tie loosened. A good sixteen hours   
have passed since his morning shower and shave. His   
hair is rumpled, and his eyes are warm.   
  
"It is," she agrees. There is no place she'd rather be.  
  
- - -  
  
Waiting for information in the Gunmen's lair is not   
an easy thing. Mulder has trouble sitting still, knowing   
he's surrounded by so many very expensive toys just   
waiting for a test drive.   
  
The printer across the room is churning out page 327 of   
1608, and it looks like he'll be here for awhile. He   
gets bored reading about the latest in android technology,   
so he turns to Frohike's computer for amusement.   
  
The hard drive is full of folders with obscure names like   
'lexeme' and 'toric.' Most are full of articles and   
reports. A few contain rough drafts of recently published   
conspiracy theories. He clicks through several, but   
nothing captures his attention. Finally, he selects a   
folder labeled 'recon' and almost chokes on his   
coffee when he sees that all of the file names begin   
with the same six letters. All are photos, some close up,   
some far away. There are a few random snapshots, but   
most are crime scene pictures. And each is an image of   
Scully.  
  
"Damn it, Mulder. I can't leave you alone for one   
minute."  
  
Frohike's voice startles him, but he regains his   
composure admirably. "What are these all about?"  
  
"She's hot." Noting the way his friend bristles,   
Frohike is quick to amend. "Relax, big guy. We're   
not stalking Scully. We just happened to intercept   
a few files."  
  
"But there are over 20 pictures here. It must've   
taken awhile to find these... accidentally," Mulder   
chides, adding air quotes to the last word for   
emphasis.   
  
"Not really. It's a Lone Gunmen special ops mission.   
As I told the guys, we're collecting 'em for you."  
  
Mulder looks genuinely confused. "Why?"  
  
Frohike clicks on the first icon, and the picture   
unfolds. Scully crouches beside a victim but is   
looking up at something outside of the frame. "We   
wanted to give you concrete evidence. This is the   
way she looks at you, even when you're arguing   
over a stiff." He pauses for effect. "So do   
something about it, already."  
  
  
== December, 1999 ==  
  
Her heels pound on the wet pavement, a sickening slapping   
sound. The Kevlar weighs her down as she sprints through   
the darkness.   
  
Two shots ring out, then a third. She imagines she hears   
a body crumpling to the ground, but that is impossible.   
She is too far away. She's always too far away.  
  
She whips around the corner into a narrow alley. It smells   
of piss and old newspapers. She tastes blood on her tongue,   
for she has bitten into it. At the far end of the alley,   
she sees him, sprawled on the pavement, lit by a single   
flickering street lamp. His arm is slung across his neck   
at an odd angle, broken, the white of his dress shirt   
sleeve contrasting the bloom of crimson at his temple.   
His eyes are open, staring up into the starless sky,   
unseeing.  
  
She tries to run to him, but she seems fixed in place.   
Suddenly, a team of agents materializes and swarms   
into the alley, led by a tall, thin figure. Fowley,   
she realizes, emotions swirling. The other woman   
touches Mulder, brushes his hair away from his forehead   
and kisses him tenderly. Sudden rage gives Scully the   
power to move forward, and she rushes to his side.   
  
Fowley rises to meet her. "The situation is under   
control, Agent Scully."  
  
"I need to see him."  
  
"But you aren't what he needs anymore."   
  
Scully notices for the first time the simple gold   
band on Mulder's ring finger. Realization dawns,   
twisting her inside out. Speechless, she stares   
as his wedding ring gleams rhythmically in the   
flickering lamplight.  
  
She awakens, startled, hot tears streaming down her   
cheeks. She licks them from the corner of her   
mouth, salty like the blood in her dream. Her racing   
heart slows, yet the feeling of stomach-dropping   
fear remains.  
  
Irritated, she slides out of bed and wanders to the   
kitchen. She fills the tea pot and puts it on to heat,   
her mind racing. She wants to reach out to him,   
call him, touch him. She wants to crawl into bed   
with him and sleep a thousand years, curled around   
his strong body that radiates heat and energy and   
smells like home.  
  
She is finally tired of being alone, she decides   
as she sips her cup of chamomile in her too-quiet   
apartment.   
  
Missy told her once that everyone forms at least one   
unbreakable attachment in their lifetime. Each person   
has someone that they would do anything for. Mulder is   
her unbreakable attachment. She will open her door to   
him at any time, under any circumstance, after any   
amount of separation, no questions asked. Always.  
  
She feels ridiculous, being jealous of a dead woman, yet   
her darkest fear is that Diana held this special place   
in Mulder's heart. The hurts of the past year still sting   
from time to time.   
  
She wants answers badly, the way she wants him.  
  
She has to get out of the house, so she pulls on a pair   
of worn jeans and the black sweater she wore to work   
before slinging on her trench coat, snatching up her car   
keys, and locking the door behind her. She returns briefly   
to retrieve her badge and gun, wondering how she became   
so paranoid that she doesn't leave the house without them   
anymore.  
  
- - -   
  
Each week, she has shown up at his door bearing some   
sort of offering. First the pizza, then a CD, ice cream   
and chocolate sauce, a bag of sunflower seeds, cookies   
straight from her mother's oven, a stuffed goldfish that   
'reminded her of him.' Yesterday, she brought an anthology   
of Norse folk tales, which he read aloud to her because he   
knows she likes to watch.   
  
He isn't sure why he expects her again tonight, but he   
is surprised when her knock still hasn't sounded at a   
quarter to eleven. Resigned, he pads barefoot to the door,   
checking the peephole and throwing the deadbolt.   
  
- - -   
  
Lost in her thoughts, she wanders the neat aisles of a   
corner market, wondering about the other people who are   
out at this hour.  
  
When she sees the ripe, red display, gleaming under   
the fluorescent grocery store lights, she knows what   
she is supposed to do. She's not sure if she believes   
in fate, but the fruit calls out to her. She selects   
several fat apples from the bottom of the pile and   
makes her way to the front of the store, where the   
bored clerk regards her strangely. She suspects not many   
people venture out on a gloomy winter night just to buy   
an armful of fruit, but the clumsy weight of the crinkled   
paper bag is comforting to her hyperactive fingers as she   
walks down the street to her car.   
  
She needn't worry that he'll be asleep, she tells   
herself as she maneuvers through the darkened streets.   
He is always ready for her.  
  
At her knock, he opens the door with an amused expression,   
but says nothing as she walks in under his arm and makes her   
way to his kitchen.   
  
She might be crazy enough to eat apples with him at one   
o'clock in the morning, but she isn't so crazy that she   
doesn't wash them first. She admires the way Mulder's   
now-prominent crow's feet crinkle as he smiles, his   
long fingers playing tag with hers in the warm water.  
  
- - -   
  
"Tell me a story, Mulder."   
  
Four shiny red apples sit before them, lined up with   
military precision on the coffee table. She selects   
the largest and offers it to him.  
  
"From our book?" He smiles, remembering her eyes on   
him the night before.   
  
"No, just... tell me. Tell me anything."  
  
He turns the apple over in his hands thoughtfully, his   
thumb caressing the planes and curves. It really is   
beautiful, when he thinks about it.  
  
"In many cultures," he begins, picking up the small   
paring knife she brought from the kitchen, "the apple   
is an erotic symbol."  
  
She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, watching him   
peel the apple instead. The sharp blade slices easily   
through the plump fruit, a crisp, wet sound. He carefully   
avoids her gaze.  
  
"There is evidence that the tradition of throwing rice   
at weddings evolved from an ancient custom in which   
apples were thrown near new brides to ignite sexual   
desire and promote fertility."  
  
He cuts a slice of the apple and offers it to her,   
balanced between his thumb and the flat of the knife.   
The fruit feels sticky in his fingers.   
  
"The newlyweds might also share an apple in celebration   
of their union. As a gift, an apple represented the   
giver's eagerness to begin a romantic relationship."  
  
She looks at him quizzically, accepting the fruit and   
watching as he slices a section for himself. The room   
is too quiet, so she turns to their old stand-by, the   
innuendo-laced one-liner. She's getting better and   
better at dishing them out.   
  
"Are you propositioning me?"  
  
He looks directly into her eyes for the first time   
since he began the history lesson. 'The question is,'   
his expression seems to say, 'are you?'  
  
She doesn't have an answer to that.  
  
== Christmas, 1999 ==  
  
Late in the evening, her cell phone chirps from her   
mother's kitchen table. Matthew, who had been happily   
playing with his peanut butter and jelly snack,   
squeals in delight and reaches with sticky fingers   
for the prize. He captures it easily, pressing several   
of the buttons and shouting "hewoo" before Scully   
can wrestle the phone away.   
  
"Scully," she answers with a laugh, distracting the pouting   
toddler with her keys.  
  
"Taking hostages, I see."  
  
She watches her peanut butter-covered nephew shake the   
keys gleefully and toss them to the floor. "Actually,   
I think it might be the other way around. I'm on baby  
sitting detail. We're having PB&J."  
  
"Scully, I'm shocked that you would give a child sugar   
at this hour."  
  
She smiles to herself, bending to pick up the keys.   
"Yes, well, he'll be coming down from the high on Tara   
and Bill's shift. I've still got wrapping to do."  
  
"Ah." He pauses. "So... I have a surprise for you."  
  
"Mulder, if this is about a haunted house, I'm hanging   
up now."  
  
This earns her a chuckle. "No, not at all. It should   
be arriving... now." The doorbell sounds right on cue.   
"Now, Miss Scully, what do we have behind door number   
one?"  
  
"Am I sure I want to find out?" she asks, hoisting   
Matthew into her arms and making her way to the door.   
  
"I promise it's completely safe to look. I'll give you   
a call in the morning. Merry Christmas, Scully."  
  
She can hear his smile. "Merry Christmas."   
  
She opens the door to find a small, neat basket at her   
feet. Tucked inside the cloth covering are several   
ripe, red apples and a small card that reads, "Just   
returning the sentiment."   
  
- - -  
  
He watches his fish dart to and fro in their liquid   
world. The large one pauses to look at him through the   
sealed glass before moving on to gulp several of the   
brightly colored flakes floating all around. He really   
should feed them on a more regular schedule.   
  
He wonders what the fish think of him. Do they view him   
as some sort of benevolent deity that bestows gifts of   
food and clean water at random?   
  
He thinks about basketball at the rec center, the fried   
chicken he ate for dinner, and cold case files. But,   
mostly he thinks about Scully. Is she curled up in front   
of her mother's colorful Christmas tree, slicing an apple   
and thinking of him?  
  
He longs for a holiday he can spend with her. They get   
so little down time together. He'll take her out for   
her birthday, he promises himself. It's a shame Mardi   
Gras won't be in February this year. He imagines them   
driving down to New Orleans in one of the convertibles   
Scully loves to rent, joining the mass of couples   
picnicking on colorful woven blankets, Scully toying   
with her bright green beads and sipping a margarita.   
The air would swirl around them, smelling of tequila   
and expensive cigars, and they would be free.  
  
- - -  
  
By the time the rest of the family returns from their   
last-minute shopping trip, Matthew has passed out on the   
sofa. Tara carefully scoops him up and carries him   
upstairs to bed. In the kitchen, Scully quickly wraps   
a few stray presents and helps her mother put away   
the groceries. Maggie pauses when she sees the basket   
of apples.   
  
"Mulder sent them," Scully explains. "Do you think there's   
enough for a pie?"  
  
Bill eyes the gift, then turns to his sister. "He sent   
*apples*?"  
  
Scully simply nods. She can't tell Bill it's quite   
possibly the most exciting gift she has ever received.   
Actually, the present seems downright naughty, when   
she thinks about it.  
  
She changes into her pajamas and brushes her teeth,   
thinking about him. In her room, she removes the note   
from its hiding place in the side pocket of her bag.   
  
Just returning the sentiment. Oh, God.  
  
Deep in the night, she dreams of making love to Mulder   
in the bedroom of her tiny college apartment. It is   
mid-summer and the overhead fan is on, cooling their   
sweat-slick bodies. They rise and fall in her old   
twin bed with no headboard and risers underneath, his   
t-shirt muting the light from the bedside lamp. The   
dream is all sensation, full-color, and she awakens   
before dawn, breathless and trembling.  
  
- - -  
  
He does indeed call in the morning. "Watch the sunrise   
with me," he says.  
  
Carefully, she creeps down the stairs and out onto   
her mother's porch. It's freezing, and she snuggles into   
the quilt wrapped around her shoulders, careful not to drop   
the phone. In the east, the sky is ablaze, the rising sun   
sending explosions of red and orange out to greet her.   
  
"It's going to be a gorgeous day."  
  
"Mmm," he agrees. "Have you gotten any interesting   
presents yet?"  
  
She laughs. "A few. Mulder, who in the world delivered   
apples for you on Christmas Eve?"  
  
"Santa, of course."  
  
"Mulder."  
  
"What? It was an important gift. I had to make sure it   
was delivered in style."   
  
Together, they watch as the sun slips over the horizon   
and the world around them wakes.  
  
"What are you thinking?"  
  
She watches her breath puff in the cold morning air,   
considering her answer. "I'm wondering what happens next,   
for us."  
  
"So am I."  
  
== January, 2000 ==  
  
"Easy does it, Mulder," she warns, taking his bag   
away from him and slinging it over her shoulder.   
"I'm your personal bellhop until you're all patched   
up."  
  
He sighs and nods, but insists on pushing the elevator   
button with his good hand. "What about turndown service?"  
  
She eyes his reflection in the metal doors. "Don't push   
your luck."   
  
The elevator opens with a ding, and they trudge inside   
looking every bit as tired as they are. Scully leans   
against the back wall, eyes closed. She briefly   
considers the possibility of making out with Mulder in   
the elevator, pushing him back into a corner and taking   
her time. Yet when she opens her eyes she remembers   
the sling on his arm and his slight limp. Not a good   
idea.  
  
Her lips still tingle. For a first kiss, it wasn't   
that bad. But, it wasn't quite what she imagined a   
first kiss with Mulder would be. It was sweet and   
gentle. She was hoping for something more...   
substantial. Still, progress is progress.  
  
At his door, she fishes the keys out of his back   
pocket, enjoying it way too much for her own good.   
She coaxes his creaky door open and drops his bag   
into the closest chair. He eases onto the couch   
and turns on the television. Sci-Fi is running a   
'Twilight Zone' marathon.   
  
She hesitates in the living room doorway, unsure   
of what to do. "Do you need anything?"  
  
He smiles. "Nah, I'll be okay. I promise to keep   
the sling on as long as I can stand it."  
  
"You know what I like." She drops his keys onto the   
coffee table and turns to go.   
  
"Hey," he says, holding out his hand as she turns   
to face him. "Come over here."  
  
Warily, she approaches the couch and sits beside   
him. "Mulder, you need to get some rest."  
  
"I will, I will." He pauses. "Just sit with me   
for awhile."   
  
She cannot refuse this man, with his heavy-lidded   
gaze and slightly stubbled jaw. So, she stays.  
  
- - -  
  
He awakens in the night, sprawled on his leather couch,   
Scully snuggled under his good arm, cheek against his   
chest. Her features glow, flashing eerily in the light of   
the television. He reaches for the remote and presses the   
power button, plunging the apartment into darkness.   
Gently, he kisses her forehead and pulls his Navajo   
blanket down around them to block out the chill.   
  
He refuses to send her home. He hopes, just maybe, she's   
already there.  
  
- - -  
  
It happens, unexpectedly, on a Wednesday. She is at   
his door at seven o'clock as promised, but they never   
make it to dinner. He brushes flakes of snow from her   
shoulders, she looks at him in just the right way, and   
they are done for.   
  
He marks her neck with his lips as she rises above him,   
panting with the thrill of it. Her nipples brush against   
his bare chest rhythmically. She licks her lips, her   
nerves running hot and cold. What this man does to her   
defies belief, but it isn't a dream. It is real and   
wet and so, so perfect.  
  
- - -  
  
Today, they make time to eat lunch together. She   
saves their window seats in a bustling deli while he   
braves the line for sandwiches.   
  
Outside, a helium balloon bounces precariously in   
the grasp of its young owner. The wind is strong,   
the boy isn't paying attention, and Scully knows   
what is going to happen.   
  
Oblivious to the drama unfolding across the street,   
Mulder makes his way through the lunch-hour crowd   
with their food.  
  
"Heads up," he warns.   
  
She catches the apple easily, smiling at him. Lately,   
there have been apples everywhere. He leaves them for   
her, inconspicuous reminders on her bedside table,   
in her car, on his desk at work. Two days ago, she   
found apple Jolly Ranchers in her lingerie drawer.   
  
She can't tell him to stop or let him know that it   
ruffles her feathers ever so slightly. After all   
these years, she secretly enjoys being stirred up.  
She has smiled more in the past week than any other   
time he can remember. He catches her staring again,   
but these days she doesn't have to pretend he's   
imagining things.   
  
The vendor on the street corner is pushing newspapers.   
Cars stop and go with the changing street light. The   
boy's balloon slips away and up into the sky, becoming  
a tiny green dot before disappearing altogether. All   
around, the world is rushing by, yet they take a   
moment to sit too close together in the small deli,   
quietly discussing case notes. More now than ever   
before, there is no place she'd rather be.  
  
== end ==  
  
BTS Readers' Day Challenge Elements:  
1. bed risers - check  
2. Mardi Gras - check  
3. Sallie's "That" - check  
4. Frohike with a folder of Scully candids he has   
to explain - check  
5. A helium balloon - check  
  
Yea, all of them! I had a great time. 


End file.
